


Eyes And Souls And Some Such Nonsense

by wickedwitchcraft



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ashamed crowley, sweet otherworldly beings are sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:27:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwitchcraft/pseuds/wickedwitchcraft
Summary: Crowley's doesn't just wear his sunglasses to hide his eyes. He's hiding something else as well. Something he's pushed down for 6000 years. Aziraphale let's him know that there's nothing to hide. Not from him.





	Eyes And Souls And Some Such Nonsense

Someone once said, the eyes are the windows to the soul, or something like that, Crowley wasn’t really sure, hadn’t _really_ been paying attention, if he was honest. He’s sure Aziraphale could tell him, but he’d never ask, so it was really beside the point. He slid his sunglasses off and rubbed at his eyes, he was tired. Incredibly tired. _Endlessly_ tired. But the apocalypse was over, he and his angel had saved the world.

His head jerked to the side at the words his mind had used. _His_ angel. Crowley pushed his tongue against his lip, thought for a moment, shrugged, and moved on. Aziraphale _was_ his after all, he certainly wasn’t anyone else’s, and if anyone had claim on the little food loving bastard, surly it was him. He tossed his sunglasses onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, pushing his foot against his desk, the chair tilting dangerously.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the window and stared, yellow eyes shining back at him. He scowled and looked away.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his eyes. Of course he wasn’t. Because if eyes were the windows to the soul, and he was ashamed of his eyes, then surely that meant he was also ashamed of his soul. And he _wasn’t_ , he was perfectly _fine_ with his soul. He’d come to terms with it long ago. That he was damned, and always would be. Unforgivable was his middle name. And if he didn’t _quite_ live up to the title with his sinister deeds well, who had to know?

He wasn’t ashamed. And if he was, which he _wasn’t_ , he’d never admit it. Never ever ever ever. Not to anyone.

Soft white wings flashed across his mind, pushing against his thoughts, he growled and stood up. He sauntered across the floor, smirking as his plants shivered when he passed. He snapped his fingers, walked out the door, and threw himself into his car. His beautiful, unruined car. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment, and pressed his foot to the floor, racing through the London streets at much to fast a speed.

He ended up in front of the bookstore. Because of course he did. He sat in the Bentley, hands clutching the wheel until his knuckles were white, staring at the door. The angel was in there. He could feel it. He could get out of his car, walk in there, and just…

He growled again, shaking his head. He pressed his foot down again and sped off. Ten minutes later he was sat outside again. The car turned off this time. It began to rain, droplets of water scattering across the hood of the Bentley and dripping down the windshield. He stared at the bookshop, hard, his hands had started shaking. He sighed to himself and threw the car door open.

He turned around not once, not twice, but three times, walking back and forth in the rain like an idiot before finally pushing himself to the door with yet another low growl. He knocked. He’d never knocked on the door to the bookshop in his life. The sign was flipped to OPEN, what had he knocked for?

“Just a moment!” Aziraphale’s cheery voice called from the other side. Crowley shivered, his spine tingling. The door swung open and there he was, his angel, standing in front of him. Crowley didn’t move, he was about to speak when Aziraphale’s smile fell.

“Crowley? Are you alright, you look dreadful.” He looked him up and down, flipped the sign to closed, stepped aside, and motioned for Crowley to come in, all in one swift movement that Crowley had a little trouble following, his head was swimming. He walked into the bookshop, hands shaking at his sides.

He didn’t say anything. Not for a long time. Just let Aziraphale hand him a glass of wine. And then another. And then one more. He pushed his hand through his soaking wet hair and heard the angel make a small noise. His head was getting wine fuzzy now and he couldn’t tell what kind of noise it had been.

“Crowley?”

He blinked hard, looking up at his angel though dark lenses.

“Hmm?” he hummed, his voice low in his throat.

“You’re soaking wet.” His voice was quiet. And there was something there, Crowley couldn’t really put a name to how it sounded, but he could feel it. The angel was worried. About him. Crowley snorted. He didn’t mean to, but he was always doing thing he hadn’t meant to. The angel’s eyebrows furrowed, his head tilted slightly to the side as he looked down at him. Crowley watched him raise his hand slowly. Crowley blinked. Aziraphale snapped and warmth rushed over Crowley like a sweet summer wind, drying him instantly. He sighed and relaxed on the couch he’d been sitting stiffly on for almost an hour.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment, seemed satisfied enough, nodded, and moved back to his chair. He poured Crowley another glass of wine before he sat down.

“Would you like anything to eat?” his voice had that always cheery tone. Crowley felt his lip twitch up and bit into it. He wouldn’t be smiling drunkenly at this angel tonight. He shrugged and watched the angel stand immediately and rush into his kitchen. He pushed his fingers under his sunglasses and rubbed at his tired eyes. He shouldn’t have come here. This was a terrible idea.

Aziraphale walked swiftly back into the room, tray full of finger sandwiches held aloft. He sat them on the small table and pushed the tray toward Crowley, looking, dare he say, sheepish. Crowley looked at the sandwiches for a moment, enough time for Aziraphale to start fidgeting, and then reached out and grabbed one. He took a large bite, nearly half the sandwich. He smiled at up at Aziraphale’s disapproving look. The angel shook his head and moved back to his chair. He was always sitting so far away.

“You’re always so far away.” Crowley grumbled, reaching for another sandwich and sliding to the floor on accident. His butt hit the hard wood beneath him roughly and he let out a huff of air. He’d misjudged the distance between himself and the table. He looked around, a little confused at suddenly being on the floor but not totally put off. He shrugged and grabbed the sandwich he’d been reaching for.

“Pardon?” the angel asked. Crowley could never tell if he was being an ass on purpose or if he really was just that clueless. Crowley swallowed the bite he’d taken and cleared his throat.

“I said,” he started, his voice louder than it needed to be, “you’re always so far away.”

He let his head fall back to rest against the couch.

“I don’t bite ya know.” It was just a mumbled, but he heard the angel clear his throat gently, and knew he’d heard him. Crowley thought maybe he didn’t believe him.

There was silence for a long time. Aziraphale sitting, drinking, and looking awkward. Crowley sitting, drinking, and eating a plate full of sandwiches. It didn’t escape him that Aziraphale hadn’t eaten a thing. Not one bite. He dropped his head back against the couch and pressed his fingers up under his sunglasses again.

“I do wish you wouldn’t wear those all the time.” Aziraphale’s annoyance startled him a little, he lowered his hand slowly and raised his head the same way. He looked at the angel, sitting properly on his chair. He didn’t look embarrassed, or flustered, he looked cross.

“I beg your pardon?” Crowley asked, his voice uncharacteristically proper. Crowley watched in astonishment as the angel snorted and smiled at him.

“Wot are you smiling at?” Crowley asked, his voice a little squeaky. The angel shook his head and looked into his lap. Crowley felt like he’d been slapped, the amount of fondness flooding off of Aziraphale was intoxicating, which was unfortunate because Crowley was already quite drunk. He blinked hard, trying to keep the angel in focus, he was suddenly very confused about what was happening.

“I beg your pardon.” The angel said, mimicking the way Crowley has spoken. He snorted again and then outright laughed. Crowley scowled at him and crossed his arms over his chest with a huff. The angel laughed again and then stood up. Crowley pressed himself against the couch more, unsure.

Aziraphale walked over and lowered himself down on the floor next him. He sat there for a moment and then sighed before turning to look at Crowley.

“I do mean what I said. I wish you’d take them off. At least when we’re inside. It’s good manners you know.” He smiled softly. Crowley narrowed his eyes at the angel.

“Manners.” He said flatly.

Aziraphale nodded.

“I am, a demon.” His voice full of indignance.

Aziraphale smiled at him. Honest to … whoever, smiled. Crowley flinched back from him.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“That!” Crowley pushed his finger into the angel’s cheek gently. He didn’t move away, just smiled brighter, a laugh bubbling out of him, his head falling back.

Crowley could feel how relaxed he was. He’d never been this relaxed before, not that Crowley could remember anyway. He’d always been on edge, even when he was drunk. Crowley couldn’t handle this. He needed to sober up. He couldn’t handle a fond, relaxed, not drunk, angel with this much wine floating around his head. He held up his finger when Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak and pushed the wine from his system. He groaned and watched as the wine bottle filled itself back up. Aziraphale sat next to him patiently. Crowley fell back against the couch once his head was clear again, making a face at the taste in his mouth.

“Better?”

“I’m not sure.”

Crowley looked at him. Not sure what to say. The angel opened his mouth to speak and Crowley looked away, into his lap. This talk of his eyes made him feel like the angel could see them, even through the sunglasses. And the reality of the whole situation was that he very well might be able to. He was angel after all. The idea that Aziraphale had been looking him in the eyes, not the black circles he presented to others, for 6000 years, give or take, was making his head swim. He may as well have stayed drunk for all the good sobering up had down.

“Crowley.” His voice was soft. Softer than Crowley had ever heard it. He stared into his lap. Unable to move. Unable to look at his angel now that he realized he’d most likely been seeing him, _really_ seeing him, this whole time.

“Crowley, please.” Crowley held back a flinch when the angel’s fingers gently slid under his chin and raised his head to look at him. Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale was looking at him with such… tenderness. The angel’s thumb moved gently against his chin as he moved his hand.

Aziraphale moved for the sunglasses gently, like he was trying not scare a wild animal. And Crowley supposed he was close to the mark there, really. He watched his angel move so slowly, his eyes moving over Crowley’s face as he did so, watching for signs that he should stop. Crowley could feel Aziraphale holding his breath, every now and then a warm breath would ghost over his skin, it made him want to press forward so badly. Just close this space before his sunglasses could be taken. But he was scared. He’d never admit that to anyone, ever, he’d be discorporated and dowsed in holy water first, but he was more terrified than he’d ever been. He couldn’t ruin this, not by acting so rashly. Sure, it had been 6000 years, but if the angel wasn’t ready. Ready for that. He wouldn’t push him. Couldn’t push him. Refused to do so.

Aziraphale’s fingers bumped the side of the sunglasses and an involuntary pained noise crawled up Crowley throat, escaping past his teeth before he could bite into it and hold it back. Aziraphale stopped moving. He didn’t move away. But he stopped. Crowley took a deep breath. The angel moved forward again. His fingers closed gently over the sunglasses, he began sliding them off, moving them slowly off of Crowley’s face. The nose pieces lifted from his skin and Crowley felt panic shoot through him. He was on his feet in a second, stumbling a few steps from the sudden movement.

“I just- I’m not sure. This isn’t-“ he couldn’t get the words out. He wasn’t even sure what the words were supposed to be. He pressed his palm against his mouth and willed himself not to scream. Aziraphale stood up slowly, he held his hands out in front him. Crowley was very much aware that he was indeed a wild animal now. He was also an idiot. They were just glasses. Why was this so hard.

“You don’t have to be frightened. Crowley I would never judge you. You know that.” His voice was that sweet calm again, all softness and kindness, and things that Crowley knew he didn’t deserve. Not from Aziraphale. Not from his angel.

“Oh please. You judge me all the time and you know it.” He threw a joke into the situation, his go to defense, but it didn’t work. Aziraphale didn’t take the bait. Not this time. 6000 years and he was choosing _now_ not to accept the diversion Crowley threw him.

“Not about this. Never.” His voice was firm now, but still soft, still full of kindness. Crowley’s heart was beating in his ears, he was sure he’d go deaf soon, the beats so loud he may as well have been at a concert, standing next to the speaker, or with his head shoved inside it.

“It’s okay.” There was smile now, a small one. One Crowley had seen many times on the angel’s face. Just never directed his way. It was the smile Aziraphale usually reserved for food. Not just any food. The best foods. The ones that made him close his eyes and sigh and relax into whatever chair he was sat in. Crowley swallowed hard, wiped his palms on his jeans, and took a hesitant step forward.

He stopped when he realized something, his stomach dropping into his feet and then bouncing back up like a kid in a bouncy castle to get lodged in his throat.

“You can feel it.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Loud may have been a bit of a stretch anyway. He’d whispered it. Whispered it like he’d just been punched in the stomach and had run out of air. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, giving Crowley a look that was two things, one of them was pity. And Crowley felt a small stab of anger, it ran up his spine and crawled into his hair, running over his scalp like a spider. The second thing was fondness. An unbearable amount of fondness. The kicker was, it had always been there. The fondness. Well, maybe not _always_ , but since the church. The day he’d saved the angel’s books.

Aziraphale could feel everything he was feeling.

Not just the fear. But the reason behind it. The shame. The shame that he’d been shoving down for 6000 years. The shame that he’d screamed into his plants. The shame that he’d wrapped in sunglasses and shoved into a deep dark corner of himself, hoping that maybe, just maybe, it would disappear in the dark. But it hadn’t. It had festered. It had grown in the dark like a shadow under a single, swinging, light.

“Yes.” Was all the angel angel said. One word and Crowley felt like he’d been punched again. But there was something else, under the fear, peaking its head up after a long, long, time of hiding. Crowley rubbed absently at his chest. What was that?

“It’s hope my dear.” Aziraphale was in front him now. When had he gotten so close?

“Hope.” The word felt odd on his tongue.

The angel nodded.

He moved for Crowley’s sunglasses again, ever so slowly, giving Crowley ample time to tell him to stop, or to bat his hands away, or to run.

Crowley wanted to do all of those things. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath instead. Aziraphale’s fingers touched his glasses and that hurt sound escaped him again. His angel smiled at him, brushing his knuckles across Crowley’s cheek gently before moving back to the glasses. He gripped them for a moment, allowing Crowley another chance to escape.

Crowley did not take it.

The angel smiled again.

Aziraphale slid the sunglasses off of Crowley’s face slowly, and then all at once. He felt naked, vulnerable, in a way he hadn’t since… he couldn’t remember. Maybe didn’t want to. He blinked a few times, his eyes darting around the room, refusing to focus on, or look at, Aziraphale. They landed on books, on discarded cups of tea, on the rain running down the window, but not on the angel.

“Crowley.” His name. Just his name. Spoken so softly and sweetly you’d never know it belonged to a thing like him.

His eyes fell to the floor, to their feet, nearly toe to toe. He watched as Aziraphale’s feet stayed completely still, a stone in what felt like a hurricane to Crowley. And Crowley’s, fidgeting. He pushed himself nervously onto his toes and then gently lowered himself back down. And then a hand came into view. A hand he’d longed to hold for ages. Quite literally.

The fingers, at his chin again, lifting him up, in so many more ways than they could possibly ever know. His eyes stayed down until the other hand was on his cheek, warm and inviting. His eyes fell closed as Aziraphale’s soft touch comforted him. The angel was pushing feelings onto him. Crowley felt like he was floating, the feelings all things he hadn’t felt in years. Well, not entirely true, he’d felt them, but not for himself. They were always directed outwards. These feelings were for him.

Feelings of warmth. Feelings of welcome. Feelings of admiration and a slight pang of envy. Feelings that wrapped around Crowley like a snake, slithering over him and holding him tightly. And then an image, a single image, flashed through his mind.

His eyes.

And a single feeling after that. Or maybe it was two feelings so entwined that they’d become one long, long ago. A feeling of beauty. Or love. Two things thought of so often, alongside each other, for 6000 years that they’d tangled together and were now inseparable.

Crowley opened his eyes. He felt a tear fall down his cheek. Aziraphale was watching him. His angel was there, in front of him. Full of all these feelings. For him. Crowley couldn’t speak. He knew he’d ruin it. But he could do something. He could do something he’d wanted to do for so long but was so, so scared to do. He moved his hand to Aziraphale’s chest. The man looked down at his hand and then back up, a question in his eyes but not on his lips.

Crowley pushed as hard as he could. Not literally, not physically, but mentally, like his angel had just done to him. Telling him things he could never manage to turn to words. Not properly anyway. Crowley tried to push every feeling he’d had into that one wave of emotion. He wasn’t sure it had worked. Aziraphale stumbled a few steps back and he was terrified he’d ruined it. He’d ruined everything.

“Angel. Are you alright I’m sor-“

He cut off when said angel slammed into him. His arms wrapped around Crowley’s neck so tight he was afraid he’d suffocate, if he was human, he wasn’t, so he was fine, his angel could hold him as long as he liked.

Aziraphale pulled back, not far, not far at all, as a matter of fact. He was close, their noses almost touching, his hands resting on Crowley’s shoulders, fingers tangled in his jacket, and he was staring into Crowley’s eyes. That feeling washed over Crowley again, that love and beauty mixture that he just couldn’t quite figure out. He was so focused on the feeling he missed the angel pressing forward. His lips pressed against Crowley’s gently.

A surprised noise escaped out of Crowley, Aziraphale pulled him closer, melting against him like that fancy chocolate that he liked so much. Crowley blinked once, and then closed his eyes, his arms slithering around the angel’s waist, holding him close. Crowley made a disapproving noise when the angel pulled back. He frowned when Aziraphale smiled at him.

“They’re beautiful. _You’re_ beautiful.” He moved one hand down to Crowley’s chest, pressed his palm there firmly. Crowley thought he might discorporate on the spot. He wasn’t talking about Crowley’s heart, though he liked that about him as well. He pressed his hand firmly to Crowley’s chest and he knew that the angel was talking about his soul. Crowley smiled then, a real, proper, smile. His angel beamed back at him. Crowley pulled him closer, pressing his lips firmly to Aziraphale’s, fingers pressing into his back with no intention of letting go.

He had his angel. Finally. And his angel loved him. Aziraphale loved him. Not the body he’d chosen, not the person he pretended to be. The real Crowley. The _true_ Crowley. The Crowley that had fallen. The Crowley that had been damned. The unforgivable Crowley. The Crowley that helped him save the world. He held his angel close, feelings pulsing back and forth between them like waves of light and shadow. He held his angel close and reveled in the fact that he was completely, and utterly, loved. Forsaken eyes, damned soul, and everything in between, loved, by his angel.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so hey! this is my first every good omens fic! i've only seen the series so thats what it's based on! i love these two dumbies!!! i hope you all like it!!!! <<<333


End file.
